


Such Interesting Neighbors

by December21st



Series: Forgotten [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/December21st/pseuds/December21st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something unusual about the new neighbors on Oak Grove Circle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to "Forgotten", this will make more sense if you read that first. Title stolen from an unrelated short story by Jack Finney.

  
**THEN**   


“I’m _married_?” he asks incredulously. Jo’s hand, similarly adorned, covers his.

Sam can’t see much of anything if the while film covering his eyes and his blank stare is anything to go by.

“She’s Mary for your mother, and Ellen for mine,” Jo tells him, looking at the infant with just a hint of sadness.

  
**NOW**   


So the problem with being the neighborhood gossip on Oak Grove Circle (there’s only one oak tree, in Ted and Francie Miller’s front yard) is that there’s nothing all that interesting to actually gossip about on our little seven-house cul-de-sac. I mean, Peter Gustavson’s teenagers are juvenile delinquents-in-training, and Ed McReedy has all these wacky survivalist ideas, but we’re all used to that by now. The most exciting thing that’s happened on the Circle lately is when Lillian Flowers finally gave in to her daughter’s constant nagging and agreed to move to New Mexico to live with her. We all threw Lillian such a great farewell party that she almost missed her plane.

Lillian’s house – she used some agency in town to rent it out – sat empty for almost three months before the new family moved in around the beginning of July. The first time I saw them, I was weeding my front garden while P.J., my seven-month-old, was taking a nap. First was this blonde woman driving one of those big black macho cars (I don’t know cars), with a brown-haired guy in the passenger seat, followed by another brown-haired guy driving one of those small rental trucks. When I walked by along the sidewalk to get the mail (not _really_ going out of my way), I just happened to glance in their truck, and it was only half-full. They probably could’ve gotten the whole truckload for a hundred bucks at a garage sale. Hardly worth moving, I thought, but some people are just so attached to their stuff.

Once they were moved in – I couldn’t offer to help, because P.J. woke up and I swear I don’t need a baby monitor to hear him when he does – I went over with a plateful of cookies. The blonde woman answered the door, and she must’ve strained her back moving furniture, because she kept on holding her hand behind her back the whole time we were talking. We exchanged names, mine being Patti Martinez and hers being Joan Wesson. She seemed a bit nervous, uncomfortable around strangers, so I invited her over to a backyard barbeque that evening to meet the neighborhood so we wouldn’t be strangers. She was one of those shy types that’s uncomfortable when anyone pays attention to her, so I told her it was no big deal, we were going to have folks over anyhow. And then I had to go home to actually invite everyone over, since I hadn’t decided to have a barbeque until after Joan and her family showed up.

Well, fortunately pretty much everyone else on the Circle was free for dinner, and they wanted to meet the people living in Lillian’s house too, so we had a pretty good turnout. Only Ted Miller had to work, and Ted always has to work. Joan and her family were the last to arrive, except for the Kitteridges (who are always late.) Just like when we met earlier, Joan had her longish blonde hair back in a ponytail. The shorter of the two men was Joan’s husband, Dan Wesson. He had a short, almost military haircut, and was obviously no stranger to exercise. They had a little girl, an energetic toddler named Mary Ellen. (Really, really energetic. I dread P.J. reaching that age.) She was quite possibly one of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen, aside from my own. The other man was Joan’s brother, a blind man named Sean Smith, who was also living with them. He was tall and skinny and wore dark glasses all the time. They’d come here from Detroit to get a new start; something about a fire in their old house.

Dan was looking for work, although he only described his background as “a little bit of everything.” He was what I call a reformed flirt – a quick smile for all the ladies, even Kim Miller, and she’s only sixteen – but he saved the best smile, the one that really reached his eyes, for when his blonde wife showed up at his side while he was talking to someone in the back yard and tucked herself under his arm. Joan herself still seemed a little nervous, and she’d always pause before answering even the simplest question about herself, as though she was trying to remember the right answer. I really would have to work on her self-esteem.

Mary Ellen was talking, but not really understandable to anyone but her parents; for example, “Ugga Sam” meant “Uncle Sean.” Like everything else, she talked at about ninety miles an hour, and I’m sure the ketchup stains will come out of my patio furniture eventually. Sean Smith was a friendly guy in spite of his disability, joking about how fake the name Smith sounded, but he was stuck with it, wasn’t he? And then the poor man accidentally stepped on his brother-in-law’s foot. Sean, it turns out, is single, so I made a point of making sure he sat next to Tamara Andrews, is also unattached, at the picnic table. Carl Gustavson, who’s sixteen, and his brother, Lars, who’s two years younger, thought it would be funny to start making “blind” jokes around Sean, but he took it in good stride, even threw a couple back at them. Those two boys just haven’t been the same since their mother took off with her secretary.

During the party I missed one important detail that Dan shared with my husband, Rico. Come to discover that Dan was a military brat, always moving around from place to place when he was a kid, and he kept moving around a lot as an adult too. Rico’s always been a sucker for any kind of military background, even one that’s second-hand, like Dan’s, so Rico offered him a job at his bar, the _Five O’Clock Shadow_ , as a bouncer. I was so mad at Rico for not even getting a resume. Rico told me Dan’s pretty good, too, friendly until friendly’s a disadvantage, and then suddenly he’s tough and fearless, like he’s seen much worse than a drunk with a broken bottle.

The first few times I stopped by, it seemed like all three of them were pretty tense. They’d jump if the doorbell or phone rang. Joan explained that they were trying to avoid her aunt, who’d never approved of Dan and would spend hours reminding her of it. I never did meet that aunt. By August they started to settle in. Joan, who’d done some waitressing, found work at a nearby diner a couple days a week. They left Mary Ellen with Sean when they were both working. I had to respect him for it; that kid made most toddlers seem lethargic, and he handled her better than most sighted people would have. Dan bonded with Peter Gustavson over classic rock music, and they went to a couple shows together in some smoke-filled little nightclub not far from Rico’s bar. Sean turned out to be something of a bookworm and started tutoring Kim Miller in the summer school Latin she was taking, helping her with her pronunciation. I never did manage to get him and Tamara Andrews on a date together, though.

Rico earned his keep by getting me some insight into Dan’s mindset. He and Dan had a few drinks after the _Five O’Clock Shadow_ closed one night, and Dan confessed to Rico that he thought he’d hate the suburban life – mowing the lawn, taking the garbage out to the curb every week, saying “honey, I’m home” was completely alien to him. But his brother-in-law was able to be more independent in familiar surroundings, and his little girl just loved to run around in their back yard, and the whole thing just felt safer than the big city, where they’d lived before. “Safe” was very important to Dan; Rico inferred they’d had problems back in Detroit and probably decided it wasn’t the best place to raise a child. He still didn’t especially like the suburbs, but he’d put up with it for his family’s sake.

Shortly before school started, the neighborhood had a whole series of break-ins – not just on the Circle, but some of the other streets around us too. They all happened late at night while the people living in the houses were sound asleep. Ed McReedy started a neighborhood watch program for the Circle and offered to look out for Joan and Sean while Dan was still at work, but Dan politely declined, much to Ed’s dismay. I’m not sure why; Ed’s a little odd, but he’s good with all that survivalist/security/home protection stuff. Maybe they were just hoping that sort of thing wouldn’t happen to them; some people are completely unrealistic when it comes to preparing for emergencies. It’s the sort of “bad things only happen to other people” mentality that really irks me.

On Labor Day, with school scheduled to start the next day, we had another backyard barbeque. Carl and Lars Gustavson showed up with identical black eyes and an assortment of interesting bruises, and those were just the ones I could see. Neither one of them were willing to talk about it. I head Peter Gustavson telling Dan Wesson that the boys wouldn’t tell him what happened; he was worried about bullies, although I’ve never heard of a bully getting an early start on the school year. Lars, who’s only fourteen, was wearing a tee-shirt for something called “Daredevil,” so I thought they might have been trying some stupid backyard stunts. It was nice to see that those two boys finally stopped telling “blind” jokes around Sean Smith. And at least the break-ins stopped when school started.

The way Dan and Joan said goodbye every afternoon caught my attention, since usually Dan left for work in the afternoon while P.J. was napping and I was out working in my garden. Most of the couples on the Circle, like me and Rico, kiss each other goodbye with a quick peck on the cheek like we’re auditioning for a ‘50’s sitcom. Not these two. They’d kiss mouth to mouth and hold each other close like they were never going to see each other again, and more than once they went back inside their house and Dan didn’t come back out again for a good half hour. I thought it was sweet, and made a mental note to try that technique on Rico someday.

A few weeks later, Kim Miller discovered that all three of the adults in their family had plans, and actually convinced Joan to let her baby-sit for her. Francie, Kim’s mom, told me that Kim told her that Kim had gotten some of the oddest “if something goes wrong” instructions in the history of babysitting. Cell phone numbers I can understand. Fire extinguishers in every room of the house seemed a little excessive, and the nursery had two. They made sure she knew where all the exits to the house were. They made sure she knew where the fireplace tools were, and it wasn’t really cold enough to light a fire. The strangest thing, though, was that Dan and Joan seemed to look to Sean to make the final decision as to whether it was all right to leave Mary Ellen with Kim. He concentrated on it for a few minutes before he said it would be okay, and they stopped worrying after that. Like Sean had flicked on an “Okay” switch. Maybe because Sean knew Kim best after tutoring her in Latin. At least everything went smoothly.

Around the beginning of October, the mother of one of the Kitteridges – I don’t remember whose mother, and they both called her “mom” – died in a nursing home a few towns over. It was pretty odd, too, because the doctors said that her health had suddenly taken a turn for the worse; the week before she was doing quite well. We all said the usual things, featuring the words “pity” and “shame” but of course there wasn’t anything we could really do. The real tragedy was that this wasn’t the first death there; two residents had died before that, and the health department was looking into the situation. Joan seemed unusually upset by the whole thing, although she’d never met the mom.

Well, Dan must’ve sensed that his wife needed a little extra attention, because he arranged with Rico to have that weekend off for a “romantic getaway.” They left Mary Ellen with Sean, and took off for parts unknown in that black car of his. They came back Monday practically clinging to each other. I was a little worried when I saw that Joan had a bloodied lip – I won’t stand for any sort of abuse on my watch – but watching Dan carefully kiss his way around the injury reassured me. The next day was unusually warm, making it a perfect day for mowing lawns, and when Dan mowed his I noticed that he had scratches on both his shoulders, so I’m guessing they both like things a little rough.

They never did find out what was caused those deaths at the nursing home, but the Kitteridges’ mother was the last one who died, and they eventually got a nice settlement from the nursing home, although I know they’d both rather have mom still around. I even called my mother in Los Angeles after that incident, and I hadn’t talked to my mother in months.

  
**SOON**   


Sometimes I wonder how I’ll react in a crisis – I think everyone does. Will you keep your head? Do what needs to be done? Or will you fall apart, being worse than useless? It never occurred to me to wonder if I’d start calling people the wrong names.


	2. Chapter 2

  
**THEN**   


“I’m _married_?” he asks incredulously. Jo’s hand, similarly adorned, covers his.

Sam can’t see much of anything if the while film covering his eyes and his blank stare is anything to go by.

“She’s Mary for your mother, and Ellen for mine,” Jo tells him, looking at the infant with just a hint of sadness.

Lillian’s house sat empty for almost three months before the new family moved in around the beginning of July.

Joan had her longish blonde hair back in a ponytail. The shorter of the two men was Joan’s husband, Dan Wesson. They had a little girl, an energetic toddler named Mary Ellen. The other man was Joan’s brother, a blind man named Sean Smith, who was also living with them.

Joan would always pause before answering even the simplest question about herself, as though she was trying to remember the right answer.

Kim Miller convinced Joan to let her baby-sit for her. Kim got some of the oddest “if something goes wrong” instructions in the history of babysitting.

Carl and Lars Gustavson showed up with identical black eyes and an assortment of interesting bruises. Neither one of them were willing to talk about it. It was nice to see that those two boys finally stopped telling “blind” jokes around Sean Smith.

  
**NOW**   


The Wessons showed no indication of decorating for Halloween until I convinced them that their house would be TP’ed and their car would be egged if they didn’t. Dan reacted to the threat to his car the way I expected him to, and decorations went up the next day. In between the gauze ghosts and cardboard gravestones were some odd symbols, hanging from the porch rafters or tacked to the side of the house, that Tamara Andrews (a Religious Studies major in college) declared to be protective symbols from at least four different cultures. Joan just shrugged and said they were on sale.

It was the second week of November when Carl Gustavson, the older of the Gustavson boys, returned from his first and last date with Kim Miller with a broken nose. It turns out that Carl had “tried something” and wouldn’t take no for an answer. When Ted Miller asked Kim, who’s usually shy and not at all physical, how she’d managed to fend Carl off, Kim told her father that Joan Wesson had been giving her self-defense lessons. I never did find out if the police got involved, but Peter Gustavson took Kim’s side, apologizing profusely to the Millers. Carl wasn’t around very much after that -- I heard he was going to see a therapist or something. Pretty much the only time I ever saw him was doing chores for Tamara Andrews.

I found out that they were going to have Thanksgiving dinner at a local Denny’s – a family tradition, Sean told me, and I don’t think he was joking. Apparently none of them is much of a cook. Of course I invited them over to our place for dinner. Casual, I assured them. I also invited Ed McReedy, who I don’t think likes being alone nearly as much as he says he does.

You ever catch a glimpse of someone when they don’t realize you’re watching them? And you realize, in that brief glimpse, that you caught sight of who they really are? Like that old wives’ tale about the soul being captured in a photograph? I saw that with the Wessons. I looked out my front window to see if they were on their way, and saw them crossing their front lawn on their way here. They were walking side by side, like gunslingers in a movie. Mary Ellen was sitting on her father’s shoulders, holding onto the collar of his leather coat, smiling with the undiluted joy of a child who is loved, and knows it. Dan and Joan were flanking Sean, as though they were his bodyguards. Sean looked more cool than disabled with his dark glasses. Dan was facing his brother-in-law, saying something with a grin that Sean responded to instinctively, throwing a playful punch that hit Dan on the arm. But Sean was grinning too, and you could tell these two complimented each other. Joan had her face crinkled up in amusement, her hands moving as she said something to the other two, probably telling them they were goofy or something. And then Mary Ellen said something from her perch on Dan’s shoulders that started all of them laughing. They belonged together, like this, side by side. They were family.

December rolled around with the obligatory bad weather and halfhearted Christmas decorations. The Wessons didn’t manage much more than a couple strings of sparkly lights, but the snowman Dan and Mary Ellen made the day after it snowed pretty heavily was charming. It had a Walkman and a baseball bat. The baseball bat was apparently Mary Ellen’s idea – for protection, Joan told me.

It was at Tamara Andrews’ Winter Solstice party that everything went crazy. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day – none of us will, at least those that survived. Tamara has always been a little different. She’s usually eclipsed by Ed McReedy, but that night she made Ed McReedy look normal and sane by comparison. She’d decided to host a Winter Solstice party on December 21st, only a few days before Christmas. Now, most people would have called it a Christmas party, but Tamara had picked up a few odd beliefs when she was doing her Religious Studies major at college, and celebrating the Winter Solstice was one of them. We all showed up, of course, because we support each other here on the Circle, no matter how odd our neighbors are. Tamara’s house has always been sparsely decorated, with dim indirect lighting and some fairly disturbing masks and … things … decorating the walls. It’s not grungy – if anything, almost the opposite, a little too clean and tidy, somehow stark and impersonal.

We’d all gathered together in the living room, mostly standing – Tamara didn’t have a sofa, just a wooden bench, and two chairs that were more decorative than functional. The only one missing was Carl Gustavson, and nobody really missed him all that much, I’m sorry to say. Tamara had set out some food that she claimed was solstice snacks, and then had disappeared into her basement – to get some supplies, she said. The snacks were interesting only in their color, or lack thereof – they were all an unappetizing off-white color. I watched Sean greet Peter Gustavson by shaking his hand, and then he froze. He muttered something that might have been “oh, God” and turned in the direction of his brother-in-law.

Sometimes I wonder how I’ll react in a crisis – I think everyone does. Will you keep your head? Do what needs to be done? Or will you fall apart, being worse than useless? It never occurred to me to wonder if I’d start calling people the wrong names.

Sean said, and I’ll never forget this: “Dean! Tamara Andrews and Carl Gustavson are in the cellar, and they’re summoning something. I don’t know what it is, but it’s worse than a demon. We’ve got to stop them – now.”

Now anyone else would think that poor Sean had flipped out, but Dan stiffened and started moving towards the kitchen where the entrance to the basement was, carrying a gun that wasn’t in his hand a moment before. Dan called out to Joan that he could use some help, except that he called her “Jo” instead of Joan. Now, I can see Jo being a nickname for Joan, but I’d known the Wessons for nearly six months now, and neither Dan nor Sean had called her that once. Joan stopped briefly to look at Mary Ellen playing with Kim Miller, then disappearing into the kitchen with a gun of her own, saying only one word, the name “Sam.”

Sean Smith immediately started trying to get us all to leave the house, telling us that it wasn’t safe here any more. More directly, he told Kim Miller to take Mary Ellen (at least her name hadn’t changed) and to get out, get to safety. The Kitteridges were willing to do as they were told, Rico took off with P.J. – he’s a good enough father to know this craziness was no place for a baby, and a good enough husband to know I needed to find out what was going on, and Kim Miller had enough faith in Sean to follow his instructions, but the rest of us wanted to see what was going on with our own eyes. I almost wish I hadn’t.

We all went down the stairs one by one, Sean holding on to Ed McReedy’s shoulder. The basement was foggy – don’t ask me to explain it, but it was – with a thick fog about knee-high clinging to the floor. Dan was picking himself off the floor, where he’d apparently been flung against the basement wall, and was searching the floor under the fog for something – probably the gun he no longer had. The fog in the center of the room had a sickly green glow to it, the only light in the room, and in the center of the glow was a human figure, naked except for an elaborate mask on its head, his arms out and his head upturned as though he were waiting for a gift from God. Or someone … else. I’ve never seen Carl Gustavson naked, but I was pretty sure it was him. On the other side of the room was another figure chanting something in Latin. This one was fully clothed, wearing a mask that matched the first one and flowing black robes. The robes disguised the person wearing them pretty effectively, but it could have been Tamara Andrews. I didn’t see Joan at first, until a noise made me look towards the far wall. A tendril of fog had reached out from the mass of fog on the floor and was holding her pinned to the wall about four feet off the floor. Or at least that’s what it looked like in the weird glowing green light. She was struggling, but with no obvious effect. And she’d lost her gun too.

A voice behind me made me turn around, and I realized that the robed figure wasn’t the only one reciting Latin – Sean Smith was also saying something in Latin in a loud, steady voice. Francie Miller, standing next to me, gasped and pointed at Carl. His skin was starting to glow, a sickly green glow just like the fog. And he was changing somehow, something was _writhing_ under his skin. Trying to get out.

Dan shouted “Sam! The counterspell’s not working!” and rushed at the glowing man, but another tendril of fog like the one pinning Joan to the wall coalesced and knocked him back into the wall with a crash.

In the same firm tone that he’d been reciting Latin in a moment ago, Sean said very clearly, “You have to stop him now, Ed, or we’re all going to die.” I wasn’t looking at him, because I couldn’t take my eyes off the man with the pulsing skin in the center of the room. So I didn’t miss it when a wet dark spot appeared over his heart at the same time the thunderous report of a gunshot filled the room. The dark wet spot grew rapidly as Carl clutched at it, then staggered to his knees. Then the glowing green light that infused the man and the fog suddenly went out and the room was plunged into darkness.

Someone screamed. I’m ashamed to say I think it was me, but, honestly? I’m not sure. Different people started shouting, all in English this time. I heard noises – some loud thumps -- from the further in the room, although the Latin chanting had stopped when the lights went out. Nobody said anything for what seemed like minutes, although it was really much less. Really, what was there to say? Then the dim beam of a flashlight appeared, and I remembered that Francie Miller kept a tiny flashlight on her keychain.

The fog was slowly dissipating. The naked man was lying in a heap on the floor, and God forgive me for hoping that he was dead. The robed figure had disappeared, probably up the stairs to the backyard. Dan and Joan were both picking themselves up off the floor where they’d landed. Ed was still holding the gun that he’d shot the naked man with, pointing it at the space just above where the man was lying. He started saying “I’ve never shot anyone before …” in a frightened tone, completely unlike the Ed I knew. Peter Gustavson was clutching his younger son, Lars, looking at the fallen body with emotions I couldn’t even begin to interpret when Sean interrupted him in a tone as close to panic as Sean had shown through this entire wild situation.

“Dean – Jo - get outside as fast as you can. Tamara Andrews is getting away, and _she’s got Mary Ellen_.” Dan swore as he bolted for the outside stairs. Joan looked around at the floor again, but the fog wasn’t dissipating fast enough. She strode towards the inside stairs that we were all standing on, reached up towards Ed McReedy, and said “Gun. Hurry,” in a tone that brooked no arguments.

To his credit, Ed didn’t hesitate before tossing his gun down to Joan, who did something (cocked it? I don’t know guns) as she sprinted out of the room after her husband. Sean told Ed that he needed to get outside right away, so Ed started guiding Sean outside, with me and Ted and Francie Miller following behind. When Peter Gustavson and Lars started moving downstairs to look at the body we all thought was Carl, Francie Miller handed Peter her flashlight.

When we got outside, things were not getting better. In the street in front of the house, Kim Miller was lying on the pavement, her pretty party clothes stained with blood. The mask the robed figure had been wearing was lying next to her, it was big and heavy and looked like it had been used as a weapon. Kim was still conscious, but having a difficult time getting up. Joan was leaning over her, having stripped off her sweater and was using it to try to stop the bleeding. Dan was standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac, looking frantically around.

As a group, we moved down to where Kim was, her mother taking over first aid duties from Joan as her father frantically called nine-one-one on his cell phone. Then Dan swore, equal parts frightened and furious, moving towards his own house until he stopped abruptly. I’ve never seen someone so on edge in my life. Tamara told him to stop, or she’d gut Mary Ellen. Her exact words.

Tamara was standing on the Wessons’ front lawn, still wearing the black robes from – was it only minutes? – before. She’d been crouched down behind the snowman, holding Mary Ellen to her. Now, her back was to the house and the snowman, holding Mary Ellen with one arm and a long-bladed knife in the other hand, pressed against the little girl’s throat. We were all standing back near Kim, watching Tamara, afraid to do anything that would endanger the child. And from the middle of the street, Dan told Tamara Andrews exactly what he would do to her if she hurt his kid. The things he said were terrifying, and I had no problem believing a single one of them. And then I happened to glance over at Sean Smith.

Sean was concentrating on something very, very hard. He had his eyes closed tightly and blood was dripping out of one side of his nose. But, as far as I could tell, he wasn’t doing anything else. Then I caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye. Now, I know how this is going to sound. It’s insane, perhaps no more insane than the glowing fog or the thing under Carl Gustavson’s skin, but that’s not saying much. I know that. But it’s what we all saw.

The baseball bat being held by the snowman right behind Tamara Andrews lifted slowly into the air. Nobody, not even the snowman, was holding it. Then it hit Tamara solidly on the side of the head. She hadn’t seen it because she’d been focused on Dan and what he was telling her. Mary Ellen wriggled away from Tamara as she staggered, running to her father, and then a shot rang out and a bullet hole appeared in the middle of Tamara’s forehead. Joan lowered her gun just about the same time that Dan swept Mary Ellen into his arms and Sean staggered to the ground, clutching his head.

We didn’t tell the police everything. We had to call them; after all, there were two bodies and Kim needed medical attention – she ended up being okay, thank goodness! We stuck to the truth for the most part, and just left out the blatantly unbelievable parts. Our story didn’t sound too believable to me, but then, neither did the truth. The police bought it, though. Ed McReedy was exonerated for his part in Carl Gustavson’s death (we were right in thinking the naked man was Carl.) It’s interesting, after this all happened, Ed wasn’t interested in his survivalist ideas as he had been. Instead, he got in touch with someone Dan referred him to before he left, and he started spending his spare time hunting other unbelievable things.

The Wessons left the next day, after the initial fuss with the police had died down. They didn’t even move any furniture, just threw some duffle bags and a few other things into the trunk of Dan’s black car. Everyone came outside once I figured out that they were leaving, and made some calls. Dan explained that some people were looking for them, and this incident might put them back on those people’s radar. He seemed a little worried, but not too much. Probably glad to be leaving the suburbs. Everyone was there to say goodbye. Even Kim, who was already out of the hospital. Peter Gustavson and Lars were there too, although they were understandably quiet. They’d have a lot to deal with, emotionally, over the next few months or years, but we’d be there for them. The people I knew as Dan, Joan, Sean and Mary Ellen said their final farewells and drove away. As far as I know, none of us ever saw them again.

A few days after the Wessons left, just after Christmas, some men (that Ed McReedy described as “shifty-looking”) with government IDs showed up looking for them. The men showed the residents of the Circle photos of a pair of brothers named Winchester -- for some reason the name gave Ed McReedy a coughing fit that I’m pretty sure was Ed trying really hard not to laugh -- asking if they were the same as Sean Smith and Dan Wesson, but nobody seemed to think that they were. It was strange, too, how nobody in the neighborhood had any photos of the Wesson family, not even Francie Miller, who does scrapbooking and takes photos of everything. The government men left, commenting to each other about chasing wild geese. The rental agents sold everything the Wessons left behind at a garage sale for a hundred bucks. Two weeks later, a new family moved into the Wesson's old house -- a married pair of dentists and their daughters – but none of us ever forgot what it was like to have such interesting neighbors.


End file.
